


Off the Grid

by titaniumOvaries



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniumOvaries/pseuds/titaniumOvaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of stories I have written for the OFF kink meme. The reason they are being put together in this way is because I feel as though none of these are strong enough to function as a stand-alone piece. Every chapter is a different fill and will begin with the prompt, pairings and a short summary. The stories range from disturbing and explicit to humorous and borderline preposterous; if need be, there will be warnings preceding any potentially triggering chapters. </p><p>Although not all stories will be mature, I rated this as mature to cover the stories that fall under the category. Constructive criticism is always encouraged, and if I'm doing anything wrong (rating-wise or otherwise), I appreciate being kindly corrected. </p><p>I hope you enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Craving {Batter & Zacharie + Pablo}

**Author's Note:**

> I'll start this off with the most ridiculous crack story I have for this fandom... _so far_. ;)
> 
> Prompt/Summary: I need a story about The Batter, 100% /completely/ serious, trying to buy Chicken Nuggers from Zacharie.  
> Characters: The Batter, Zacharie, The Judge  
> Story Type: Crack/Humor

For once, Zacharie was at a loss for words.

The Batter stood before him, strong and silent as usual. Although his visage was as stony as ever, Zacharie knew him well enough to recognize the gleam in his eyes. He was impatient. He was expecting an answer. Yet, all Zacharie could do was blink his widened eyes and thank Eloha that his mask was covering up his mouth; it had dropped open in surprise.

Honestly, what could he possibly _say?_

The Batter narrowed his eyes. "Zacharie?" He asked slowly, hoping that his voice would be enough to break the merchant out of his stupor.

" _Oui?_ "

"Do you have an answer?"

"Oh! Well, you see, haha..." Zacharie looked almost sheepish. "I'm afraid I'll have to... hear the question again."

The Batter narrowed his clear eyes. Did this commoner truly have the audacity to mishear his savior's words? He had half a mind to beat Zacharie senseless in order to ensure that he would never show such insolence again. If not for the precious item that the Batter so desperately craved, he very well may have succumbed to his bloodlust. It was lucky for Zacharie that the Batter's need was so strong; for once, he was willing to show mercy.

"I just asked you if you had any chicken nuggers."

 _There it was again!_ Zacharie thought. That word, that-- devastatingly amusing butchering of the term 'chicken nuggets.' He wanted to laugh just as much as he wanted to tilt his head and voice his curiosity. _'Oh my,'_ he wanted to say in a taunting tone. _'Has our majestic messiah gone through his whole life unaware of the proper way to pronounce chicken nuggets? My dear sir, how my heart aches for you!'_

It would be quite satisfying to tease the stuffy and insufferable Batter. However, being beaten senseless with a baseball bat was not worth the risk. Zacharie bit his tongue with the restraint natural to a respectable traveling merchant. Still, successful businessman or not, Zacharie needed to compose himself. He stared at the Batter for a number of tense moments, biting his black lower lip to prevent himself from laughing, but he couldn't hide everything. The Batter raised a fine, princely brow when he saw the twinkling in Zacharie's eyes. "Ah, yes," the merchant said. "I... believe I have what you are looking for."

The Batter was immensely relieved to feel the satisfying weight of the box Zacharie had handed him. _Daddy's going to give it to you when we get home,_ he thought to himself. He gave Zacharie his usual stoic expression when passing the credits, but beneath his icy countenance his heart warmed with pleasure. "Thanks for the nuggers," he said gruffly. Zacharie made a choking noise and gave him a shaky you're welcome. The Batter thought faintly that the merchant was an odd fellow before turning around to leave. 

He couldn't leave quickly enough. When he was finally gone Zacharie felt free to release the deep breath he'd been holding. He chuckled a little, shook his head, and was about to start cleaning some items when he heard a soft whump on the counter.

"Pablo!" Zacharie said. "It's always a pleasure to see you!" He leaned over to pet the cat's silky flank.

"And you," Pablo returned, flashing Zacharie his trademark grin.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, well," the cat licked the corner of his mouth. "I couldn't help but overhear you speaking to the Batter."

"Yes!" Zacharie exclaimed. He was about to eagerly share the funny story when the Judge interrupted him in his usual serious tone.

"I just wanted to ask: do you have any more chicken nuggers?"


	2. Tender Sugar {Elsen/Elsen Corpse}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt/Summary: That one Elsen from Zone 3 who dumps his fellow Elsens' corpses into the furnace is starved for some form of respite from his horrific job. He hallucinates that the corpse is alive while he's ... you know.  
> Characters/Pairing: Corpse Shoveler Elsen/Elsen Corpse  
> Warning: **Necrophilia** (which I believe implies **Non-Con** , but I'm not entirely sure), and all of the creepiness that comes along with it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I scrolled past this prompt, deeming it too dang weird, but the idea stuck in my mind to the point where I had to give it more thought. I rolled the idea in my mind for a long while and this is the result.

He has taken to talking to himself. 

Fraternization with his fellow elsen had fallen tragically ever since the Guardian deemed him fit for the job of Undertaker, and as he became more and more accustomed to corpses and decay, the living became increasingly alien. Perhaps the stink of death had settled around him like a permanent cloud, warding away any potential companions. It was a distressing thought, but he tried not to dwell on it. "Bad things happen to elsen when they dwell," he mutters as he picks up his shovel and loads in new fuel. "Bad, black, smoky things that burst your head open and burn your toes off."

"No, no, no," he says, his cubic head shaking from side to side as he loads a disembodied foot onto his shovel and lifts it to the flames. "I can’t be a Burnt—who would ensure the production of sugar, then? This Zone needs me, even if my friends act like they don’t."

At the thought of his friends, he releases a heavy, shuddering sigh. After his fellows began avoiding him like the plague, hurt had stung him with a pain so real that he began to fear that he would wake up one day without legs and Burn. Eventually, he came to accept the isolation—to a point—and he even filed a request for separate quarters so that he could be away from the crowded dorms, full of masses of bodies that moved, spoke, smiled, sobbed and lived.

With each passing day he felt his bias slipping from the living to the dead, and he began to commiserate with the fallen bodies around him more than the moving crowds in the surrounding factories. The dead were, in fact, not very different from the living. The main difference he found was courtesy; the dead made excellent listeners in that they never interrupted. Unlike the living, who spent every minute of every day plagued by terrors that they voiced whenever possible, the bodies around him had nothing to fear at all; in death they had broken the chains of fright. (Sometimes he wished he could die, too.)

Also, they didn’t shiver in fear when he spoke. They didn’t lean away from him when he stood near, and most importantly, they didn’t ask him to go away. If anything, they seemed happy to have his company. He was very attentive, very gentle, and respectful when it came to his job. . . 

. . . He was simply the best there was. He feels as though he should smile for being excellent at his job, but the only expression he seems able to make feels like a smile as empty and tight as the hole in his chest.

There was nobody to hold him, no one to stroke the side of his face or kiss him on the cheek. He missed those soft touches, the giggles in his ear, the subtle hand touches. Once he had known another who made him feel warm and loved, but the person who had become his happiness cut him away once he, as they put it, let the job make him a completely different person. As much as he may deny it to himself, he would rather have that person in his arms again than be the best at what he does. He puts the shovel down and leans against the wall beside the furnace before putting his head in his hands and sobbing.

He had sobbed his first time. He sobbed when he came, and he sobbed when his lover whispered in his ear that he loved him, that he would always come back to him, that he would love him, forever—

 _—I thought forever meant for all of life, and even beyond. . ._  
Thick gloves dragged down his face, smearing his tears across his grimy face. He glanced around the room desperately—was this all his life was? A prelude to death? He gazes towards the top of the tower, into an endless expanse of darkness. When was the last time he had seen another face? When was the last time he had seen his lover’s face?

He casts his eyes down, towards the bodies sprawled across the floor. He gasps.

“Oh!” He cries. “Oh, it couldn’t be! Could it be—?” He weaves through the bodies and the blood and he bends down over a body that is face down.

There’s just something about the figure, the way it is lain, with a gracefulness that carried it throughout life and now, into death—it is such a familiar grace, fragile and tender, and it tugs at his heart strings and compels him to take the body into his gentle hands and turn it over so that it lays in his lap and the most beautiful face he has ever seen smiles up at him.

“Hello, love,” the angel in his arms murmurs, and he feels as though his heart will burst with joy.

“You came back for me!” His voice raises two octaves and breaks, but he picks his voice back up to laugh and cry and kiss, kiss, kiss the love of his life all over his face—he gives a kiss on his darling’s nose, two for his cheeks, another for his forehead, and one kiss to the lips that is such a wonderful kiss he thinks it is worth a thousand more. “You came back, you came back,” he repeats, delirious with joy.

“I couldn’t stay away,” his love murmurs, his head rolling into the other’s chest. He must be exhausted, for he doesn’t move as he speaks. That’s okay though—he is staying close and he’s not running away and that’s all that matters. “I felt so miserable after I let you go…I thought you would be better off without me, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“No more words,” the Undertaker responds, choked up with joy. He had forgotten how wonderful it felt to have another in his arms, how lighthearted his head became, and how his heart felt completely full like his belly after he’s had tender sugar for dessert. . .

. . . Speaking of tender sugar… Enoch kept him full of sugar for a job well done, but for months he had ached with a different kind of hunger, the kind of hunger that attacks in the dead of night and is vicious to the lonely and can only be sated by a hand, never defeated fully. Countless nights he had spent silently, shamefully battling this hunger with one hand over his mouth and one under the sheets, but it returned night after night to torture him and drive him to the brink of insanity.  
"My love, how I have missed you so..." The Undertaker murmurs, gazing at his lover with feelings of love so strong and full he felt as though his heart would burst.

"Shhhh," His lover responds. It reaches its arm to him, and he put his arms around it, nestled his face in its soft and tender neck for a minute, and then kissed it longingly on the mouth. It was a searing kiss that went right through them both.

It turns its face to his, suffused as it was by a deep red blush, and captures him in a fierce and daring gaze. In that moment he understands completely that his lover has known the same hunger that haunted him. Instead of speaking in response to this mute appeal, he kissed his lover rapturously, sucking in the fragrance of the breath of life till the two trembled with shared emotion.

Their movements were frenzied, passionate, and tinged with melancholy as they learned that all their time apart had not damped their knowledge of one another's bodies. His lover still tasted of sugar, and the taste seemed sweetened with age. . .

. . .When he awakens he is in a sea of death. Corpses are sprawled around him, their empty bodies contorted into a plethora of unnatural and hideous positions. The image is so hideous he decides that a normal Elsen would Burn at the mere sight of it.

He, however, is no normal Elsen, and he rubs the sleep in his eyes only to notice that his hand has been blackened by smoke. With a sigh he raises himself on his elbows and notices that his pants are not on his legs. He finds them a few feet away, but their absence irks him. Had he kicked them off in his sleep during a nightmare?

"Serves me right for sleeping on the job," he mutters, righting his pants and getting to his feet. Nearby he sees a lifeless corpse sprawled on the ground, completely stripped of its clothing. He stares at it and wonders how it died.

Did you die completely naked? He wonders. There is amusement in his mind that is quickly replaced by stark sternness. Well, whoever you are, you must go into the fire.

He steps over the bodies with familiar ease. When he shovels the lifeless body into the fire, he watches the face as it is consumed by the angry blaze. Funny, he thinks. The body had the same face of somebody he used to know.


	3. Smacking Meat {Dedan/Batter}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt/Summary: I actually had a dream where the Batter was in Zone 1, and he's going for the first boss fight, but he accidentally walks in on Dedan, well...jerkin off.  
> Characters/Pairing: Dedan/Batter  
> Story Type: Humor, Crack (...Romance?)  
> Rating: Teens+

Zone 1 was falling to pieces, so the Batter decided to kill its Guardian. On his way through the winding corridors he heard the faint echo of Dedan's growling; the sounds grew louder the closer he got.

He came at an unfortunate time, for when he walked through the doorway to Dedan's office the guardian was masturbating.

Dedan, predictably, swore up a storm. The Batter waited patiently for him to zip up his pants and lose the hard-on, but Dedan's dick seemed hellbent on staying erect. The Batter found himself wishing it would just _get_ bent so he could begin his purification already. He had seen enough of Dedan's dick for one lifetime and was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"Are you even listening to me? Get out of my office!"

The sight of Dedan raging with a blazing hard on was quite remarkable, but the Batter remained stonefaced. "No. I have come to purify you."

Dedan grunted in surprise. His eyes darted from his wee to the Batter. "You mean... you'll..."

His voice sounded hopeful, which gave the Batter confidence. "Kill you, yes."

"Wait, what?! No! _You're_ the reason for..." He gestured towards his glistening package. "This!"

Now the Batter was confused. "Are you implying that I am the reason your penis is erect?"

"Well- I-" Dedan floundered around for the proper words like a disoriented anglerfish. "Yeah! What the fuck do you expect, walking around in that tight uniform the way you do?"

Now, the Batter didn't at all consider his uniform to be suggestive, and he also disliked the implication that he was at fault for Dedan's desire to stroke his willy. Thusly he said, "I will come back when you are done."

He began to leave.

"Or," Dedan said. "You could get back here and finish what you started."

The Batter considered it. He turned around and examined Dedan's family jewels.

He walked forwards, hands wrapped around his bat.

(Which bat was he holding? The world may never know.)


	4. Rolling in the D {Batter/Zacharie}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt*Summary: Okay, so I basically want Batter and Zacharie in a relationship (obviously) and I can just picture Zach and Batter hanging out, maybe with Zacharie laying on/sitting on the lap of Batter, listening to music and accidentally grinding his ass against Batter's groin and getting him hard.  
> Characters*Pairing: Batter/Zacharie  
> Rating: Teens+  
> Story Type: Crack, Romance, Humor (?)

The Batter's favorite part of the week had to be Friday afternoon. Aside from the typical weekend fever, he and his boyfriend had a tradition: they spent every Friday together. Whether Batter had a college game the following day and Zacharie cheered from the sidelines or Zacharie had a test on Monday and Batter helped him study, every Friday was spent in each other's company.

It began as a somewhat difficult rule: Zacharie had demanded it when their separate courses drove them apart and neither had seen each other for two weeks. When Zacharie insisted they set time aside to spent together Batter had resisted, but when Zacharie said it was either that or they break up he obeyed without question.

Now it had become a warm respite that he looked forward to throughout the week. Zacharie provided much needed relief from the stress his daily life offered him. Aside from the fantastic sex (which attracted Batter in the first place), he had a great personality (which made Batter stay).

Even if they were sitting around in Batter's dorm room, cuddling and listening to music, he was sure to have a good time. Zacharie was in the middle of telling a funny story, and was acting it out: now he was sitting on the Batter's lap and the two were laughing.

Until Zacharie suddenly stopped. "What happened?"

" _Shhh!_ " Zacharie said. He leaned over to the radio, but since it was out of reach he had to find a new position. While readjusting his knee brushed against Batter's crotch, earning a low hiss of appreciation. As Zacharie turned up the volume his boyfriend leaned in to kiss his neck.

"Zacharie," he murmured in a low voice, but Zacharie ignored him, insisting that it was his favorite song. He moved away so he could move to the music but wound up brushing his rear against Batter's groin, earning him a perfectly satisfying erection.

On any other day, it seemed. "Batter!" Zacharie cried, incredulous. "You're turned on to Rolling in the Deep?" Or to any other song.

"No," Batter muttered. "To you, not the song. Now come here..."

"No! I'm not going to do this to Rolling in the Deep," Zacharie insisted. "Besides, I'm not in the mood tonight."

"What? Why?"

"I'm tired, my dear Batter. I stayed up last night studying."

"Oh, come on." Batter made a half-hearted pouty face. He was too manly to make a full pout. He gave Zacharie's rear a playful squeeze, but this only made him jump off his lap.

"No," Zacharie said firmly. "I just want to listen to music. If you need to... relieve yourself, go to the bathroom."

Batter was going to protest, but the look in his boyfriend's eyes told him there was no use pushing him. With a low groan he got up and shuffled to the bathroom.

Once the door closed he bitterly unzipped his fly and pulled his bat out. Through the door he could hear the song's chorus.

_We could have had it all..._


End file.
